Beneath the Surface
by Vintage Vine
Summary: Thad's POV during the events of Distant Waves. Read & Enjoy!


A/N: Excuse all mistaken verb endings. Originally, I'd written this story in the past-tense, then re-read the manuscript and thought better of it. Also, this has been published before, but I'd deleted it due to personal conflict ions against it. So, Enjoy.

For me, life has unexpectedly changed whilst becoming Tesla's assistant. He's always going on about synchronicity and coincidence- rubbish, though it's one of the many things I've paid attention to. Today I would very much assume is one of great calamity and coincidence; I'm to report to our rented room at the Waldorf-Astoria and deliver Tesla's secret package. The frequency machine has been well protected, and he's finally seized the opportune moment in trusting me to deliver it.

Upon reaching the hotel receptionist, I'm already behind in my schedule, so I speak to the employee with upmost urgency. "Could you tell Mr. Tesla that Thad is on his way up?" I ask, implying the insistence further to a point.

On my way to the man-operated elevator, I glimpse a girl lounging in one of the upholstered designer chairs. I don't have much time to really look at her, and I now face the operator's waiting gaze. Before Charles can man the elevator up, I step in and realize we were not alone. The same girl is now accompanying us.

Charles is the first to break the uneasy silence after she has settled in beside me. "Floor?" he inquires politely to the girl.

She looks startled, as if this is new to her, then confused. She glances at me from the corner of her eye and answers the patient operator. "Top floor, please." Her voice is small, easily cautious.

Wearing a mask of boredom, Charles looks to me. "Mr. Tesla's room?" he mutters; knowing of my status and association with the brilliant man.

"Yes, thank you, Charles."

I found myself paying attention to the girl as the elevator began to ascend. And to my hidden surprise, she's evaluating me as well. Aware that I may look a bit disheveled and possibly even dirty; I ignore my small, if not silly, insecurity and look her head-on. I nod and smile at her courteously. "Hello."

"Hello," she murmurs, her voice seeming more confident and less shy.

She doesn't speak for another moment. Neither do I, feeling no other need to question her presence here. She's a lady and a lady's business is her business alone.

She looks down at my parcel. "That looks heavy. What's in your package?"

I fight the urge to rudely dismiss her inquiries, but try to hide it otherwise. I laugh casually. "If I told you, you wouldn't believe me." And she absolutely wouldn't. Most women aren't involved in the various and vast sciences that intrigue both Tesla and I. But, to my utter astonishment, she presses for more information. Information, at which, I'm not at the liberty of giving.

"Let me guess. Will it light all of Manhattan?" I unintentionally grip the parcel tighter to my chest. I instantly grow suspicious of the pretty girl—yes, she is indeed very attractive—and my thoughts venture to Tesla's competitors. How can they use a mere girl for such spying effects on Tesla's inventions? How can they fight so dirty?

"No," I answer her, trying to keep the suspicion from leaking out. If she knew of my cautions, would she still proceed to weasel information from me?

"Will it contact alien life on other planets?" Her next question makes me even more startled. She has to be a spy. I look from her to the lights that indicate the floor we are passing.

"No," I answer her still.

"Is it an earthquake machine?" She hits the mark. I look to Charles; I must take my leave. Now. She's onto us. Literally.

"Charles, forgive me, but I think I'll get out here on the fifth floor," I murmur, trying not to sound so eager to leave.

He does well to mask whatever annoyance my request has caused him. On the fifth floor, I quickly step out and do not look back.

I run to the end of the hall, searching for the steps. I hurry up to the sixth floor, halfway there as the girl is running down. "Who are you anyway?" I demand despite previous polite gestures. All cards down, this is now our business—and Tesla's.

"Jane Oneida Taylor." Her answer is short, firm. I might've smiled at the direct point she had made to say it proudly. It sounds almost practiced.

I push away whatever small amount of admiration I have of this and return to the crisis at hand. "Mind telling me how you know so much about my parcel?"

Instead of running from the exposing of her scandals, she delves into her story, something I'm not prepared for, but believe anyway. "And what better person to write about than someone I've been researching my whole life—so if I could only meet him and get a quick interview… Do you think you could get me in to see him?"

I relax. "An aspiring journalist, huh?" In truth, I'm impressed she's literate and seemingly well educated. It seems females in general these days don't care for anything but designer shoes and dresses. I study Jane while leaning against the banister of the stair railing. "You sure picked a great guy to write about. Tesla's the smartest guy alive, even brainier than that Einstein, if you ask me."

"Can you get me into see him?" she urges, ignoring my compliment to both her and Tesla. Persistent.

Tesla isn't always the most predictable of the bunch, but if he agrees to be interviewed by a seemingly harmless girl, who am I to object? Though, there is always the rejection of her interview…

"Maybe. Come back in an hour. I'll meet you." Today may be a good day, so to speak. If he's having another one of his episodes, he wouldn't agree. If not, then by all means, he wouldn't want to disappoint an avid follower.

My offer doesn't seem to satisfy her. She looks at me with subtle curiosity. "Can't you just tell me what room he's in?"

I shake my head. I still can't decide if she is truly trustworthy. Those pretty journalists and their pesky stories. Perhaps Tesla can decide. "No. If he says it's all right, I'll come back and take you to him." I begin to leave her there, going back up the steps to mine and Tesla's room, but I hear a soft patter of footsteps behind me. I let her follow until I reach the highest step, then turn on her. "You can't keep following me." On the contrary, I'm secretly pleased to find she'd follow me, yet she doesn't know me personally. What startles me more is the fact that I am glad. Odd.

She stays exactly where she is, looking up at me skeptically. "Is it wonderful being his assistant?" Her question surprises me. It sounds nearly wistful. She truly admires the man for his works, his brains! Perhaps friendly terms wouldn't hurt…

I shrug, considering the question truthfully. "He's a weird guy. Brilliant. But sort of nuts."

My answer piques her curiosity. "In what ways?"

I like her inquisitiveness and interest in my idolized companion. I grin; we share the same hero, in a manner of speaking. "You'll find out." I turn again, not really wanting to leave her there so rudely.

Her observations are my weakness though, and I held strong to keeping that weakness from her prying eyes. "You never told me what's in the parcel."

I look down at Tesla's tiny invention, then back to her. She's gazing at me in the oddest way. Her lovely blue eyes are filled with… yearning? But I ignore this and set to dissuade her from the contents of my parcel. "You're right. I didn't."

And I force myself to leave her gracious presence.

I busy myself with nothing particular for an exact hour. Tesla is holding a meeting in Astor's guest suite. Usually, he and Tesla hold meetings there to speak of invention patents and what-not. Before the meeting, Tesla had agreed to being interviewed with the girl—Jane.

I find myself sitting in our own suite. Thinking of her. She was pretty, very elegant. And now I find myself admiring her ordinariness and how she seemed to have much more class than the parading women who wander around this hotel. She's much more suitable than their likes, any of them. I don't realize it until I fly out the door, down the elevator and on the sixth floor that I'm surprisingly really fond of her. How could we have exchanged only a few simple words—about Tesla for that matter—and I already have a strong liking to her? It is completely beyond me. Though, on a lighter note, Tesla would most likely label it as coincidence or rather, synchronicity.

I find her standing with another, much older girl by the steps. I wave to Jane and quickly head their way. I watch as she leans to the girl and whispers something to her. The taller girl whispers something back and pinches her waist. I watch as Jane returns the favor and frantically whispers, "No!"

I finally stop in front of them, wondering what their banter was about. "This is my sister Mimi," Jane introduces. "Mimi, this is Thad."

I nod to Mimi and turn back to Jane. She speaks again, this time more enthusiastically. "Will he see us?" she asked desperately.

"Yes." I take gratitude in the smile that forms on her pale pink lips. "I'll bring you to him but you can't say a word until his meeting is over." Humorously, the two girls 'zip' their lips in mock silence. "Come on." I usher them onto the elevator and request the new operator—William—to take us to the private floor. The two girls stifle giggles. What is so funny?

We walk down the hallway, and Jane breaks the uncomfortable silence yet again. "Is this where Tesla lives?"

I shake my head. "It's Astor's guest suite. He uses it for meetings." We watch Tesla and Boldt converse mannerly. I lean down closer to Jane than Mimi and whisper, "That's George Boldt. He runs this place for the Astors."

I turn my attention to Tesla, and by the looks of his meeting, he isn't getting his way. He rises to his feet and charges for us. He looks at me. I know what is coming. The flashes, the inevitable ideas to come. He will be having one of his episodes. He speaks urgently. "I am having one of my flashes."

He leaves us to return to his suite. I know he'll sleep and once he wakes up, an intense idea will strike him.

"What was he talking about?" Mimi asks me.

"He gets these flashes, where everything kind of overloads. He feels like he hears smells and sees sounds." I watch him carefully as he goes to his room and quietly shuts the door. "This day has probably been very stressful for him. Astor was supposed to be here to talk to him, but he hasn't shown up yet."

Jane, ever so interested in Tesla's current condition, is concerned. "Will he be alright?"

I nod. "He'll lie down in one of the guest rooms until the flashes pass. When they're over, most likely he'll have a brilliant idea."

"How long does that take?"

"As long as it takes," I shrug, hoping to leave it at that.

"Hours, days, years?" she presses, obviously not wavering from the agreement of their interview. "Should we return home and come back in two years?"

For a fleeting instant, the thought of her leaving fills me with dread. But I quickly ignore it. "He's usually knocked out for two to four hours."

We're thoroughly interrupted by a knock on the door. I open it, expecting a maid or employee, but finding Benjamin Guggenheim instead. His rounded form bustles in with all his rich and snobby grandeur. The petite tag-along sweeps in- forcibly gracious- behind him.

Mr. Boldt, excited from the unexpected surprise, rushes to Mr. Guggenheim's side. "Mr. Guggenheim!" He frantically shakes his hand and appears oblivious of us all.

The rich, fat man looks a tad impatient. "What's this? I arrive to find my suite is in use. Aren't I Jack's favorite guest?" Rich and conceited. That isn't a new achievement for those wealthier people.

Mr. Boldt fumbles to give him an appropriate explanation. "We weren't expecting you."

"Does it make a difference?" Guggenheim fumes. "Jack said I could always count on having this room."

Jane takes hold of my attention. She leans close to me—I enjoy the little action to an extent- and whispers, "By Jack does he mean John Jacob Astor?"

I nod. "John Jacob Astor the Fourth. He owns the place."

"I know." She replies, turning her attention back to the subtle quarreling of the two men.

"Why is this person so important that he got my suite?" Guggenheim is demanding now, not letting this go.

"Mr. Tesla had some business to discuss with Mr. Astor, and I thought this suite was available. Regrettably. Colonel Astor has been delayed in Rhode Island."

Guggenheim snickers. "I'll bet he's been delayed. Say no more. Tell this Tesla that Benjamin Guggenheim has arrived and he has to clear out!"

"I'm afraid Mr. Tesla is presently feeling ill and lying down inside. He has his own apartment in the hotel but I'm reluctant to disturb him in his current state."

Mr. Guggenheim's face lights up. "Oh, I know who you mean now! Weird Tesla. That nutty inventor of Jack's!" He angrily looks to Tesla's closed door. I feel an odd sense to place myself in between the two.

"May I offer you Colonel Astor's suite down the hall?" Boldt asks desperately. "He is apparently remaining in Newport this night and will not be using it."

"I wish Jack wouldn't insist on being called Colonel Astor." I stifle a laugh. Guggenheim can only comment that because he couldn't have obtained such an honorable status. "It's so ridiculous. He donated his yacht and bought himself a brigade of volunteers just so he could have that ludicrous title! It's absurd."

"Colonel Astor served his country with distinction during the Spanish-American War." Mr. Boldt insists loyally.

"Very well, I suppose. I think Jack's suite is bigger than this one, anyway."

"Somewhat bigger, yes." Mr. Boldt agrees, happy to have solved the problem divinely.

I follow Jane's gaze out to the hall where Mimi and Guggenheim's little friend have resigned. They're smiling and giggling over their dresses, both shabby compared to Jane's. When they see us watching, they join us in the room.

"Benjamin, mon cheri," the young woman murmrus to Guggenheim in a heavy French accent. "can we invite these lovely people to our suite to have a bite to eat? The trip here has been tres dull and I would so love to be amusee."

Guggenheim looks distastefully over the three of us and sighs. "I'm tired and I want to unpack, Ninette."

"You sound like an old man." True, so very true. If she realizes this, how is she still following the old man? He relents though, hating the harmless insult.

We are each invited to their suite, and I catch sight of Jane's draw-dropping ever so slightly.

Astor's suite is grander. It holds a charming elegance that comes with the wealthier. Their bellhop arrives, bringing all of their luggage and belongings. A young man enters behind him. Instructions are given to the bellhop and he receives his tip. He leaves to the master bedrooms to unload everything.

"Bonjour, Mr. Giglio," Ninette speaks to the young man who's tipped the bellhop.

"Bonjour, Mrs. Aubart." Giglio bows slightly. What an act, a façade. It's almost humorous how these scandalous people act!

I look to Jane, who's watching her sister carefully. I follow Mimi's gaze back to the young man, Victor. Jane is watching him as well. I feel a tiny twinge of jealousy as she appraises him. But, thinking it absurd, I brush the thought away.

Mr. Giglio leaves again with the bellhop and Mimi catches his eyes. They stare a moment, then, shyly, Mimi looks away. Ninette notices, too. "You like him, eh?" she whispers to the blushing girl.

"He's very… handsome. Who is he?"

"Victor Giglio, Benjamin's new valet. Come, Mimi. I will show you the dress I was talking about. It is the latest from Paris. You are going to adore it!" She and Mimi delve deeper into the closet of the suite. She isn't gone long until she comes back for Jane and me.

"Order whatever you would like for lunch." She amends, handing us both menus. "I will have the lobster. You should, too. Order everything on the menu!"

"Yes, order us a fine lunch." Mr. Guggenheim approves. "If you'll excuse me, I must go call my broker."

I watch as everyone leaves the room but Jane and I. We glance at each other, then uneasily at the hotel telephone. Jane breaks the silence between us with an uproar of joyous laughter. "Well, I never expected this."

"Me, neither. It's all so… obnoxious."

She looks confused, yet… curious. "Obnoxious? I thought it was kind of… marvelous. We've stumbled into the life of luxury."

"Yeah, for us it's a lark. But don't you think the way these people live is ridiculous?" I look around the luxurious room, indicating my point. "Why do they deserve all this when the rest of us have to struggle? Are they better than us?"

She seems to consider my point. "Luckier, maybe?"

"You bet they're luckier. They're lucky their fathers were born before they were. John Jacob Astor and William Waldorf, his cousin who also owns this place, inherited their money. They didn't work for it."

"They run this hotel," she justifies.

"They hire guys like Boldt to run it for them."

"What about a man like Thomas Edison who's earned his fortune from his brains?"

As soon as the name rolls from her lovely pink lips, I nearly epxlode. He most certainly didn't earn his fortunes. He stole them. From Tesla. "Don't talk to me about Edison. He's a greedy industrialist like the rest of them. If anything, amassing wealth through your own ruthlessness and treachery is even worse than inheriting it." All true.

"Tesla's not like that, though," she says quietly.

"And look what it's gotten him. He's constantly on the brink of bankruptcy because he's not out to build a personal fortune. He wants his inventions to serve the people. He wants to pull energy from the air and light the world for free. Do you think guys like Edison and his backers will ever let that happen? Not when they're making fortunes charging people for electricity!"

"You sound so bitter," she whispers.

I immediately feel lousy. How can I get angry in her presence? She doesn't deserve to hear of my horrible troubles with Tesla and his earnings. "I'm sorry. It's not directed at you. I can tell you're not wealthy."

She looks down at her clothes and her lips pull down at the corners. Was the compliment so hidden in my apology?

"It's just that I see what Tesla's up against every step of the way. These rich guys won't let him succeed in his work. The only reason he gets anywhere at all is because he finds wealthy backers who hope that Tesla is smarter than the other guys—which he is, by miles—and that he'll invent something that makes them a fortune. But then Tesla finds ways to produce his inventions inexpensively and they decide there's not enough profit in it, so they withdraw their funding. Even worse—they trip him up, mess up his work, set fire to his labs." I've seen the no good thugs prowling the premises, fleeing the scenes, the inferno. They are never caught.

Jane doesn't seem convinced. "Do you really believe that's true?"

"I know it's true! I've seen inventions work perfectly; then he goes to demonstrate to a crow and it's all a bust!"

"How do they get away with it?"

"The police don't bother them because they're rich. Edison or his backers hire thugs who disappear into the back alleys they crawled out of. These rich guys have no ethics. They just love money and don't care that Tesla's the greatest genius of our time."

"But before, you said he was a nut," she counters.

I nod. "He's also a nut… in some ways."

My comment piques her curiosity. "What ways?"

"He's crazy about germs, always cleaning his silverware, even in restaurants, yet he loves pigeons, which are just flying rats, if you ask me. He loathes women's jewelry, especially pearl earrings. Don't where any pearls around him or he won't talk to you."

"I don't have any."

I nearly smile. "Good. You don't need any."

"What should I wear, then?"

Her question gives me the perfect opportunity to compliment her so she actually noticed my fondness. "What you have on. You look perfect just the way you are."

She blushes furiously and looks away from me. Good. I've proven my point—again.

The two women return to the living room. Mimi is dressed in something completely different from what she'd been wearing originally. "Ninette says everyone in Paris is wearing this," she tells Jane, who looks down at the hobble skirt with distaste.

"That skirt would drive me insane," she comments her opinion lightly.

Her remark makes me laugh. I'm glad she doesn't have a yearning to be trendy, but inquisitive and intuitive.

"Why?" Mimi asks, not liking Jane's negative reaction.

"You're completely hobbled by it."

"What do you mean?" Obviously, Mimi isn't as interested in the specifics of vocabulary. No, the fabrics rather the books.

"It cripples you," Jane explains. "It's no accident that they call it a hobble skirt. Hobbled means crippled."

"I see you have not the love of fashion that Mimi and I share," Ninette remarks. "Are the lobsters here yet?"

"We haven't ordered. And I've never used a telephone before, so I'm not really sure how to do it." Her face turns bright pink as embarrassment eases in.

Ninette doesn't help matters. "Never used a telephone! How quaint! Here, I will show you." She begins to lift the receiver and earpiece but I stop her, thinking of something more appropriate for the lovely Jane.

"Come to think of it, we're not really hungry for this rich hotel food. Jane and I are going to have lunch in a good little restaurant I know of in Chinatown." I watch from the corner of my eye as Jane glances nervously up at me. I've surprised her with my quick evasion. I feel oddly smug. "Would you ladies care to join us?" My offer is vague; I don't want them to come. I want more time with Jane.

"No. I have my heart set on the lovely lobsters," Ninette declines the suggestion by picking up the receiver once more.

"Me neither. I'll stay here with Ninette," Mimi replies.

Remarkable. I am so graciously granted lunch with Jane at the most amazing restaurant in all of New York. By my standards, of course. We'll see how she thinks later.

We rush onto the train that would take us to Chinatown. I plan to show her the nickelodeons first. We get off at Fourteenth street on Union square, and I lead her in the direction of the mini theaters. "Come on. There's something here I want to show you."

"What is it?" Her curiosity is never ending, never wavering. I like that very much.

"You'll see. You'll like it."

We race past the rag-time dancing children; Jane, always courteous, tosses in a few pennies for them. We finally reach the theater on the other side of the square. Jane's confusion shows on her delicate face. "What is this?"

"It's a nickelodeon, which is a kind of kinetoscope."

"A what?"

"They show short films. This is the biggest one in the city."

Jane's excitement is displayed as she clamps her hands on her mouth. I want to pat myself on the back for thinking of such a pleasurable amusement for her. "Come on." There are many isles of nickelodeons, and Jane looks around with much anticipated delight.

"I've never even seen a movie before."

I beam at her. "Well, now's your chance. Tesla believes that someday, every home will have its own private nickelodeon."

Jane walks to an isle of nickelodeons. I hurry to stop her from seeing the screens on the ones in use. They certainly aren't fit for her clarity. I hold her shoulder back. "Not those. They're not suitable for a young lady." She looks warily at the men in boater hats and nods. "Oh, I see."

Smart girl. "There are some good ones over here." I usher her to my own personal favorite. "This is my favorite. Take a look." I place a penny in the machine.

She watches attentively as the fat woman and her tiny courtier row canoe. She moves slightly, causing the canoe to tilt. The little man frantically turns the oars in circles whilst airborne. The film ends with them both bobbing above water, the boat long past sinking.

Once finished, I look to Jane. "Funny, huh?"

"It is funny, but I felt sorry for them." She smiles.

How silly to feel for them. "Don't. They're only actors. Come on. I'll some of my other favorites."

I show her the rest, not caring if my pennies are dwindling. She is worth it; her smile, worth it. One film in particular though, Dance of the Ghosts, seems to spark something in her, a memory of sorts. "Isn't that one crazy?" I ask her, trying to lighten the mood.

"Crazy," she agrees.

We leave the theater to get back on the train that leadws to Chinatown. The bustling streets are filled with the locals in all their native grandeur. Wo-Hop comes into view, and I usher her inside, only to meet Mr. Wang by the door. "Jane, I'd like you to meet Mr. Wang, a friend of my family's. Mr. Wang, meet Jane Oneida Taylor. She's a journalist writing about Tesla."

As always, Mr. Wang is eager to meet newcomers. "Mr. Tesla a very great man. Very big brain. I am pleased to meet you."

He seats Jane and I and I orderfor the both of us in my semi-native tongue. "I hope you don't mind. I think you'll like what I ordered. I never met anyone who didn't."

"Where did you learn to speak Chinese?" Questions. Filled with them. That's good, though. Questions lead to answers. And answers gain knowledge.

"I was born in China. My parents were missionaries."

"My father was a missionary, too."

Jane tells me of her father and his passing, of her growing up in Spirit Vale, the reminiscence the Dance of the Ghosts had caused. "Does it sound insane?" No, I am completely intrigued now, if I hadn't already been on the first encounter.

"It sounds like a lot of fun," I answer earnestly. "What a great place to grow up."

"It's not meant to be fun. They take it very seriously. Being a scientist, you must think it's a lot of rubbish."

I shrug, genuinely thinking the concept possible. "Who knows? I believe in life after death but I don't know how long a soul lingers around before it moves on."

I explain my life before America, how I'd lived in China until I was ten years of age, then we'd decided to travel back to America. It was encouraged by my parents to go to seminary college to become a minister, but I wasn't interested. The various sciences I studied, took interest in, were the very things my parents had frowned upon. They claimed science was the 'enemy of religion'.

"They're so behind the times. They don't realize that we're on the brink of a new, modern age. Everything will soon change. Everything!" New York is my only outlet.

"The greatest thing that happened to me was being hired as Tesla's assistant. In the last three years, I've learned about science than would have in Harvard and Yale put together," I say proudly. Her expression is speculative. I wonder what she's thinking about.

"Do you want to be an inventor like Tesla?" she asks wistfully.

"I could never be like him. I'm no genius. But I have invented a few things."

"What?" she asks, leaning forward eagerly.

I reach into my pocket for my pencil, and place it on a white napkin. I begin to draw the very plane-like device I've been working on. "It's a glider. Tesla is working on something he calls a flivver plane, which is a cross between a gyroscope and a plane, but it needs fuel. This is a glider that would ride the air currents like a hawk. I believe that we can't be so reliant on fossil fuel. It's going to run out someday."

To better explain my invention hypothesis, I take the napkin and fold it. "I learned origami in China." I grinned as I stole a glance at her amazed expression. Once finished, I stand and open the window to our left. "Have to let some air currents in here." I clarify, hoping my experiment will impress her.

I gradually aim the paper plane and let go. It is the center of attention as everyone stops and watches it whiz by. It finally lands on the windowsill I'd opened. I didn't expect an applause; it is such a simple plane. But seeing Jane smile wildly and clap along with the others makes me feel I'd been right to show off a little of my few skills.

Jane beams at me as I retrieve the plane and take my seat. "That's wonderful. How can you say you're not a genius?" She sounds so earnest, so sincere, I want to believe it.

"I'm not. But I would like to take what I'm learning from Tesla about magnetic resonance and apply it to aeronautical design. Planes are going to be huge."

"Do you think so? They seem so clumsy right now," she remarks, though it isn't intended to offend.

"They won't stay that way for long. There are guys like me everywhere who are working on sleeker, better designs. You'll see, Jane. It's the future."

Mr. Wang brings us our food, and I watch for Jane's reaction. She looks excited. Good, that means I'd done right to order this meal. "Shrimp Egg Fu Young. What do you think?"

"I'm sure this is better than anything Mimi and Ninette are having back at the hotel. I still can't believe I met Benjamin Guggenheim."

"All those rich backers are like that Guggenheim guy," I mutter, raising my chopsticks with years of skill. "They're so full of their own importance. And it's absurd that he has that young girlfriend, Ninette Aubart. She's divorced or something. People gossip about them. She's not his wife. She's his side girlfriend. He's forty-six and she's about twenty-four or –five."

"I suppose it's the trend with wealthy men," Jane picks up her fork instead of the chopsticks. Maybe I could—"I read that John Jacob Astor is marrying a woman twenty years younger than he is next month."

"Madeleine Force. Yeah. She's twenty! He's getting married next month if they can find a minister to marry them. Nobody will do it."

"Because of their age difference?"

"And he's divorced. Their problem might help Tesla, though. He's trying to get in to see Astor before he sails off on his honeymoon. Ever since the last World's Fair, they've been great friends. They have a lot in common because Astor is a sort of amateur scientist himself. He's had articles published and even holds a patent on a moving sidewalk he invented. Astor was one Tesla's backers on the Niagara Falls project."

"If they were such good friends, why is Tesla having so much trouble communicating with Astor?"

Witty and insightful. Jane, it seems, holds so much more than I've bargained for. So many wonderful traits she possessed are the very traits I look for in others.

"It's the Madeleine Force romance," I turn my thoughts from such, back to the matter at hand. "Astor and Madeleine are lying low in his mansion in Rhode Island to avoid the press. The papers are having a field day with the scandal."

Jane stops using her fork and attempts to use the encouraged utensils. This is my chance, if she doesn't know already, which I presume. I subtly use my own and know she is watching. She tries, and fails miserably. I suppress a smile and arrange her fingers properly along the sticks. "Like this."

Jane is staring at me, shocked and... dazed. I fight my threatening grin hard. Jane doesn't have much luck; her smile widens as she forgets to open her mouth before the hovering food. "Oh! Sorry!"

I lean back. "Now you try." She must have watched with extra care; her next attempt is more graceful, less a bust.

"I guess the timing is bad for Tesla," she speaks a moment later.

"There are rumors that Astor is going to run off and get married. If Astor disappears on a prolonged honeymoon, it will be a disaster for Tesla. He won't be able to catch up with Astor to persuade him to finance his next idea."

Her expression turns curious again. "What's his next idea?" She pierces a piece of the food with the end of her chopstick. Resourceful, too.

I shake my head. I want to tell her, but it isn't my secret to tell. "I can't tell you that."

"I won't tell anyone," she vows loyally. She is just a package bundle. Everything good in one. I smile at my little evaluation. "Oh, no? Aren't you writing a newspaper article?"

"I guess so." She returns my smile.

It seems sparks are flickering between us.

I stare into her eyes a moment longer. Then make the deal. "When we go back, Tesla will probably be awake. I'll ask if he'll talk to you and see what he says. Then, if he wants to tell you, it will be up to him."

Once we're finished eating, I walk Jane to the Columbus circle. Tesla will meet her there; he will want to feed his blasted pigeons anyway. She smiles at me once I slowly begin to walk away, and I smile back. I hope she won't immediately leave after the interview. Perhaps she'll even offer a goodbye due in part for my meaningly tour and luncheon.

I go back to the hotel where Tesla is waiting anxiously in our room. "Thad? The girl. Where is Jane?"

I look at him quizzically, wondering how he could've remembered her from all those years ago. "She's waiting for you at Columbus Circle. I thought that would be the best place since you feed the pigeons."

He smiles slightly. "Thank you, Thad. Now, tell me. She has not a pearl on her?"

I frown; I wouldn't want him calling off the interview even if she is wearing pearls. "No, she's perfect without them." It is her right. He could've abided by that much.

Tesla's smile grows wider. "Ah, you feel for the inevitable, my dear boy."

"The inevitable?"

"Yes, the inevitable. Now, I mustn't make her wait much longer. The heat of this day is much too overbearing." With that, he leaves the door open with me standing there, confused to absolute infinity.

I busy myself with drawing planes and making them with the folding of origami. Jane and Tesla won't be back for a while. I wish I had been invited to accompany her. What if the thug... No. That wouldn't—couldn't- happen to Tesla while he's with a mere vulnerable girl. Competitors aren't that low, are they? I shudder at the thought. Yes, they are.

After an hour or so, Tesla approaches our suite again. I look up eagerly from my desk and go to his side. I look out into the hall. No Jane. "Where is Jane?"

He looks at me, then to the bedroom door. "I'm afraid I left her in the lobby. I have devastating news and need to lie down. We were being stalked in the park. A man wearing a bowler hat had eavesdropped on our interview."

I knew it! How could I have agreed to this? "Was she hurt? Were you hurt?"

He shakes his head dismissively. "Of course not, my boy. I led her back on the public path."

I breathe a sigh of relief. "May I leave you here, then? To see if she's alright?"

"Go on, Thad. I'm having one of my flashes."

I leave him in our room and head to the lobby. She isn't here. Had Tesla mistaken the lobby for Astor's private suite? I deem it useless, but try the search their. Ninette and Mimi are wearing extravagant dresses and too much makeup when I knock on the door. I look away, embarrassed to have interrupted their dressing games. "Have you seen Jane? I ask, looking down at my feet.

Mimi sighs "Yes, she came back after her interview. But she left soon after."

I force myself to look at her. "Where did she go?"

My question seems to unsettle her. "She was going to take a train back to Spirit Vale. I'm staying here with Ninette. I won't be going back with her. I'm sorry, Thad. Hurry, though. You might catch her..."

I ignore her vague hope and run to the elevators. Hopefully, Jane hasn't caught the right train yet.

I bound down the twelve blocks, panting, not caring who watches my desperate performance. I don't want her to leave without saying something. I desperately want to keep in touch.

I find her standing on the train platform, nearing a… Washington D.C. train? "Jane!" I cry, running up to her trembling form. I smile; immensely glad she's still here, in my reach. "Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?"

She tries for a smile. "I didn't know where you were. How did you find me?"

Mimi. I know now I probably can't ever forgive her for the way she's deserted Jane. Now, Jane will have to go home and face their mother. "I saw Mimi at the hotel and she told me you had left."

A new volley of tears streak down her crimson cheeks. "Did she tell you why she's not coming with me?"

"She did. And I also see she'd upset you badly."

"She says she's wanted to see the world. She's not sure what her future holds—claims that this is her fate."

I don't like seeing the tears. I remember the old handkerchief in my pocket and hand it to her. Comfort. She needs comfort. "Oh, don't worry. She's just dazzled by all the stuff. You know, the dresses, the suites, the decoration. A free trip through Europe is pretty hard to resist; don't you think?"

"But to travel with those two; they're not even married," she protests hastily.

"'Judge not that ye may not be judged,'" I quote, in an attempt to dissuade her objection.

"It's just wrong," she whispers, hanging her head, cutting off my view of her face.

I boldly take both of her hands. They are warm and wet from her tears. "We can't control what other people do. I bet she'll be back home in no time. You'll see."

"Do you really think so?"

"Sure," I say, and watch as another tear rolls down her cheek and releases her hand to catch it. "I'm not concerned about Mimi. She'll have a great time." I sigh quietly. "It's you I was worried about."

She looks up at me, surprised. "Me?" she squeaks.

I tell her that Iv'e heard of her encounter with the thug. "Are you alright? Were you scared?"

"Terrified. But Tesla is going ahead with his project, anyway. Do you think that's wise? Will he be safe?"

"'ll stick close to him like a bodyguard," I tell her with confidence.

"Maybe you should start carrying a walking stick," she suggests.

"I was a wrestling champ back in school." I wink at her. She seems to be in a daze as her own eyes blink.

"Were you really?" Her voice betrays her; she is impressed. I suppress a modest smile.

"Sure. I'm a preacher's son, remember? I wouldn't lie."

"Be careful, anyway," she advises hesitantly.

It is a long moment as we lean into one another. I'm staring deeply into her inviting blue irises. "I don't know exactly where you live, Jane," I state slowly. "I want to write to you."

"Spirit Vale is so closely compacted, so small, that any letter addressed to me would reach me at my house. Would you really write?" Hope floods her voice and fills me with my own hope.

"I'd like to. I've enjoyed talking to you, and it would be good to keep it up, even if it's only through letters."

"That would be great."

"You'd write back, wouldn't you?"

"Of course I would. With Mimi gone I'll really need someone to talk with, and I also find it very easy and interesting talking to you."

I rejoice internally. Translation: she's enjoyed my company. We're smiling at each other, taking no notice of the arriving train—her train.

A warning sounds. "All aboard for Albany and connecting points on the north-west corridor!"

"You'd better go," I quietly advise.

"I suppose so," she agrees regretfully.

Still holding her hand, I walk her to toward the train. "How did your interview with Tesla go?" I ask conversationally.

"Wonderful. It should be a great article," she easily stepped onto the small platform of the train. "And the most amazing thing happened—he remembered me from all the way back in 1898! Can you believe it? I was only four at the time."

A conductor advises her to take her seat. I jump and grab the railing. Jane gasps. "You'd better get down."

"I have a few minutes before it leaves the station."

The train slowly lurches forward, indicating my inevitable goodbye. "Wait! Did you say you were only four in 1898?"

She nods. "Why?" caution seeps from her voice.

I don't know why, but something has forced me to do the math. Jane is sixteen. I am twenty. Four years. Four dreadful years difference. How can it be so devastating? "I just assumed you were older."

The train threatens to take me with it, so I leap to the ground. A look of pain twists into Jane's features. I wonder why.

I wave to her, wondering why she looks so distraught.

She waves back. "Don't forget to write."

I do not answer her, but simply watch her go. I have possibly made the most regretful decision of my life.


End file.
